The moment Rian and Lian stepped out of the tiny soundproof room, the hallway felt… wrong.
Not just tense.
Hunted.
Like the walls were holding their breath.
Like every security camera had grown eyes.
Like the building itself had decided to observe, memorize, and judge their every move.
Lian felt it immediately—an unnatural weight pressing against his shoulders. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, harsh and cold, as if even they were bracing for something.
Titan Star had crossed a line.
Not rumors.
Not passive-aggressive tweets.
Not manipulative "industry concern" statements.
They had sent security.
Into StarLaunch.
Into a locked trainee room.
To physically extract him, like he was a thief caught in the act.
Lian had felt fear then—sharp, icy, crawling up his spine—but now, walking behind Rian down the hallway, something worse took hold:
People were staring.
Not in shock.
Not with sympathy.
Not even with curiosity.
But with caution.
Like he was a grenade
